


Addiction

by Hansons_Hot (Thatkliqkid)



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 20:45:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4033996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatkliqkid/pseuds/Hansons_Hot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warnings: Language, self harm, drug abuse. <br/>Hunter tries to get Shawn to see sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Addiction

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written: 13th May 2009

 

 

 

“ _Bid my blood to run before I come undone;Save me from the nothing I've become”_

**Bring me to life – Evanescence**

 

 

 

No matter what Hunter thinks it doesn't hurt.

It's a mere nick of the flesh, a slicing of the skin.

The lines are smooth, an expert's hand cultivated by practice.

 

He stands, eyes electric blue in anticipation, mouth set in a grim line of expectancy as he waits, savouring the moment before the blade plunges into his flesh, the slight gasp as it tears, the adrenaline that wakes and arises as the garnet pulsates deep and red, it flashes by, several seconds of the highest ecstasy wherein the festering soul he's become drowns in the taste of illicit freedom.

 

A flicker of joy he'd long thought lay banished to the grave of self pity resurfaces as he drags the razor once more; watches happily as the ruby rivulet weaves its sordid path across pallid skin before it drips to the ceramic surface waiting beneath.

 

“ shit!”

 

The curse startles him from his euphoric state, the low hiss of condemnation and fury tinged with disappointment brings him crashing back to reality.

 

Shawn rounds from the sink, releases the razor as if the metal scalded him under judgement. The clatter as it hits the sink, drenched in the debris of his own blood further cements his guilt as he stares into the irate features of Hunter,whose amber eyes seem scorched a fiery russet with rage.

 

The glee that was so strong splinters to guilt in a heartbeat, in the time it takes to raise and lower his chest his ecstasy is shattered at the sight of Hunter's ire.

 

He lowers his shirt sleeve, white tainted with dribbles of red as he shoves the fabric over the still oozing wounds, the blood raining over weathered scars, reminders of the last six months, the last twenty four weeks in which he's truly taught himself to feel.

 

Shawn watches Hunter's eyes narrow, watches those brown eyes blaze at the sight of the lines, the ones barely visible that remain jagged, the mutilation of a novice, the most ancient scars - the signs he had failed to see before it was too late.

 

His own gaze lowers, some long forgotten sear of shame rising in his gullet at the look blemishing Hunter's features.

 

It still doesn't hurt.

 

Hunter remains motionless, nothing but vehemence vibrating through taut flesh.

 

That's a lie.

 

He's consumed with so many feelings he doubts he could name them all.

 

There's a cocktail of emotion swirling through his frame, battering and berating him as he stands, eyes frozen to the razor blade he can see reflected in the light, the dirty red ebbing from it, intertwined with the slow trickle of water leaking from the faucet, allowing Shawn's blood, the blood he had intentionally bid to run, to drain to the sewers as if it were worthless.

 

“ You promised”

 

His words are hoarse, a fractured reminder of words spoken mere days ago. Words that have now been marred in deceit.

 

A none committing shrug is Shawn's only defence, a weak gesture even on his part. His lack of spark only further enrages Hunter as he awaits some strength in rebuttal.

 

“ What they hell are you playing at anyway?” he roars, his tone a sizzle with the harsh spit of white hot rage, cracked slightly with the sinking spiral of helplessness, with the bitterness of bewilderment.

 

He fails to understand Shawn's actions, fails to prevent the elder man from hurting himself. No matter what he does Shawn slips past his defences, secures the loophole and manages to resume his self destruction, splattering crimson against porcelain white regardless of the scenery around them.

 

“ It's not a game”

 

Hunter strains to hear Shawn's answer, the response nothing more than a whisper, wrapped in sullen annoyance at being caught and chastised when he wants nothing more than to be left to his own demise in peace.

 

“ I know it's not a Fucking game” he barks, fists clenched, nails so tight against flesh that it marks, crescents spot his palm under the pressure, the lines stark against his skin. The pain stings momentarily and fades as abruptly as it came.

 

“ You don't understand. You never understand”

 

Shawn's gruff cry slices through the tense air surrounding them both, the words tinged in woe, a disgusting sense of self pity that he has clung to in the months since being weaned from prescription pills.

 

Hunter closes his eyes, blocking Shawn from view. He doesn't want to see the slack features before him, the pale colouring doesn't belong to the man he sees, it's someone else he sees covered in their own blood, someone else who can't live without harm; it's not Shawn Michaels.

 

Through the orange haze six months flash, maybe longer. The good and the bad, both better than the worst which is what Shawn has become. Hunter thought the worst had surfaced in a hotel in the guise of blisters of pain pills washed down with Jack Daniels, had assumed the dark cloud of destruction had broken when Shawn had clumsily stumbled upon the straight and narrow only to find that his friend had simply traded one addiction for another.

 

“ It's hard to understand when you won't talk to me” he growls eventually, his own ears detecting how wounded he sounds.

 

“ You don't listen” Shawn counters defensively.

 

Excuses. Lies.

 

He may as well still be downing pills.

 

“ I do nothing but listen-”

 

“ No you don't!” Shawn screams, a volatile effusion breaks between them, “You don't listen, you just judge. You don't care why I do it, you think you know, you don't know s**t!”

 

“ You do it because you're a selfish Bastard”

 

The words have flown free before he can call them back. Heavy and hurtful they surround the pair, Shawn's lips pursed in defiance.

 

“ I'm not” he finally replies weakly, his voice a quiver as if even he has trouble believing it.

 

“ Of course you are” Hunter ventures, words empowered by Shawn's doubts. He could always manipulate Shawn's insecurity so that it became rationality.

 

“ No. I don't want-”

 

“ Don't want what? To live?”

 

“ See you don't listen!” Shawn shouts, words usually crowed in triumph now drenched in desperation.

 

A sliver of fault finds him as Hunter presses his lips together, his silence inviting Shawn to continue.

 

“ I don't want to die.” he admits, “ I don't want to hurt you-”

 

“ Then why-” Hunter begs, words stressed with confusion.

 

“ I feel”

 

Two breathless syllables, accompanied by an almost dreamy smile strikes fear into his heart as Hunter stares quizzically at his best friend.

 

“ I don't understand” he admits finally, the quiet confession confirming Shawn's declarations from the start.

 

“ I keep telling you. It doesn't hurt, you won't believe me!” Shawn cries, his words steeped in an annoyance, his moods so up and down, so unstable.

 

“ You're cutting yourself with razorblades Shawn”

 

“ It's no different to when we have a match and blade-”

 

“ Bullshit Shawn! That's bullshit and you know it!”

 

Hunter ploughs into his excuse with ferocity, disregarding the ridiculous attempt at a weak explanation.

 

 

“ Why won't you leave me alone?” Shawn mutters, teeth clenched. Seething that his self-justification is thwarted, he turns to his solid defence, the one that has served him well throughout their friendship, denial and displacement of blame. If he twists it so that Hunter is at fault, he can get what he wants. And what he wants most of all is to left alone, to have his actions remain without consequence, so that he can bask in the freedom that spilling his own blood creates.

 

 

“ Because every time I do you cut” Hunter says, words threaded with betrayal, “ Even after you promised you wouldn't”

 

“ I just want to be me!” Shawn snarls, disregarding all common sense, “ I want you to leave me alone and let me live my life. Everything got taken away Hunt, everything why won't you just let me have this?!”

 

Hunter seeks the tiles of the bathroom floor as Shawn's voice breaks, knows if he glances upwards he'll see the Texan battle with the tears about to birth, the droplets of regret and pity pooling in cerulean as he mulls over his loss of identity.

 

God how he longs to help, to offer Shawn an alternative to the method he has chosen to extract his pain.

 

Agony had been dulled for so long, rendered to oblivion through the use of pills that when Shawn relinquished their hold he couldn't cope with the pain that wracked his soul. Defined by somas and wrestling; the loss of both had rendered his spirit shattered it seemed.

 

“ You deserve more than this” Hunter sighs eventually, raising his stare to meet Shawn's.

 

“ I don't want it”

 

Shawn's dismiss is swift, lusting for self harm he wants no other option. He can think of no better solution than the trickle of his own blood, the sight of red seeping from deep beneath his skin gives him a sense of purpose, an iota of power. Why must Hunter try and crush any self worth he's reclaimed with his stupid ideology of pain and suffering.

 

“ Shawn you have to stop”

 

“ You can't make me”

 

The cold truth shocks them both, like a slap in the face to Hunter awakening him from his denial. The illusion that watching Shawn like a hawk could prevent this mutilation already ripped from his clutches, although the man's words merely confirm what he knew it still startles him to hear Shawn say it so calmly.

 

“ Don't take it away from me”

 

A beg. A plea.

 

A demand.

 

Hunter looks, the man before him is wide eyed and beseeching, frantic in his desire to keep his form of escapism.

 

“ You're hurting yourself” he stresses, words vibrating as his own eyes begin to water in misery.

 

“ I'm not” Shawn denies with conviction.

 

Hunter emits a low growl of frustration, breaches the gap between them in seconds, yanking the smaller man towards him he rives his shirt sleeve up, roughly dragging fabric over barely healed scars, drawing blood, the wounds weeping in protest at such treatment.

 

“ Look at yourself!” he roars forcing Shawn's head with his free hand, “ Look at what you're doing to yourself!”

 

It's only when the first sob escapes does Hunter realise he's shaking him, that Shawn's skin has began to blossom mauve beneath his hold.

 

Releasing him he watches with disgust as Shawn crashes against the sink, the waste-basket sent sprawling as he hits it. Slumped against the wall, dazed and crying Shawn makes no effort to move, shaken.

 

“ Tell me it doesn't hurt” Hunter snaps snidely

 

“ I hate you” Shawn weeps, tears hot with rage, he feebly attempts to suppress them, knowing he's powerless to his own fright, knowing his defiance has unleashed something maniac within his friend.

 

“ Tough 'cause I don't hate you” Hunter replies bluntly, “ I'm not gonna watch you destroy yourself again”

 

“ I'm not destroying myself” Shawn seethes, words thick through his tears, “ I want to be left alone!”

 

“ No chance”

 

Shawn pulls himself upwards, shirt askew, his blood encrusted in the fabric, face aflame with annoyance.

 

“ I just need-”

 

“ You need help” Hunter over rides, words brusque

 

“ No one appointed you my saviour” Shawn bites coldly, tone frosty with dislike.

 

“ You see anyone else stepping up?” Hunter retaliates,

 

“ I don't want anyone! I don't want you!”

 

“ Well you're stuck with me so get used to it.”

 

“ I don't want to be here”

 

“ Where?”

 

“ Here!” Shawn reiterates. Hunter looks at him as he furiously waves his arms around and knows he means more than the wrecked bathroom that surrounds them.

 

“ Where's here?” he asks again

 

“ It's better when I'm bleeding” Shawn says softly, refusing to clarify here, “ It's like everything drains away with it, all the hurt and the failure, until there's just me”

 

Hunter shakes his head slowly.

 

“ You don't have to cut yourself to be you”

 

Shawn snorts in disbelief.

 

“ I mean it”

 

“ You still don't get it”

 

“ I don't think I want to”

 

“ So leave me the hell alone”

 

“ I've told you I'm not going anywhere”

 

“ Fuck it Hunter I'm not some sort of child! Stop trying to save me from nothing!”

 

Hunter doesn't respond, can't help but feel their conversation is spiralling, doing nothing more than venturing in circles.

 

The silence is overbearing, he can sense Shawn's defiance crackling around him, he doesn't want to relinquish the little power he has, will not allow the grip self harm has over him to cease.

 

“ I won't stop.”

 

“ You-”

 

“ No! You can't make me!”

 

Anger burns with fear, smoulders with the frantic desire not to have his defence against himself torn away.

 

“ I can try” Hunter chokes, throat tight with his own desire to cry.

 

It's Shawn's turn to shake his head, a promising denial that he will fail to succeed. He barges from the room, easily passing Hunter whose energy is spent

 

Hunter stands in front of the sink fingering the blade, feeling the groove beneath his hand.

 

A moan of dismay as he hurls it to the ground, knowing it's a worthless gesture, knowing that as his tears break that Shawn can get a blade from anywhere, knows in his heart that Shawn doesn't even need a blade to cause himself harm, you don't need razors to bleed.

 

Face damp he stares into the mirror, the features staring back are scared. They're confused.

 

He's seen the look before.

 

It's the look Shawn wears when he's not bleeding.

 

It's the look of the lost and defeated.

 

A gulp and his eyes close.

 

A silent vow passes his lips

 

Eyes open ; the mirror shines back at him. He can see Shawn in the en suite bedroom, sitting on the window sill staring dejectedly out over the horizon.

 

He won't let Shawn be defeated.

 

Fear has gone, replaced with something else.

 

A purpose.

 


End file.
